


tribe mother

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Bottom Will Graham, Breeding, Breeding Ceremony, Bukkake, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Come Eating, Courting Rituals, Crying, Dark Will Graham, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, Facials, Gangbang, Genital Torture, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Mutilation, Omega Will Graham, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pain, Public Sex, Religion, Restraints, Rimming, Rough Sex, Self-Lubrication, Top Hannibal Lecter, Triple Penetration, Virginity, Voyeurism, those tags aren't for will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-21 02:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21067205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: "I ask for his head and you bring me his whole body," Will murmurs. "I wonder if I should expect the same in all aspects of our life together."Hannibal smiles, not pausing from his work. "Ask me for a bite to eat and I will bring you a feast," he promises. "A river in place of a glass of water. Endless hours of pleasure when commanded to give a single kiss."





	1. Chapter 1

Their tribe has grown strong in the last few years, assimilating with weaker friends and easily defeating enemies until they easily encompass the entirety of their well-guarded valley, nestled at the base of the highest peak in the continent. Beyond their rich treasure trove of thick forests, crystal-clear lakes, and fields always ready to yield the richest harvest, there stretches a desert so vast it takes ten days by galloping horse to cross it. Any army that would dare would see themselves severely weakened should they try to attack from that direction, and the mountains protect them from every other side.

There are a few buildings in the center of the tribe. The weather here is pleasant all year round and most of the people prefer to sleep under blankets and the watchful brightness of the stars; they wake with the sun and dance around fires at night. There exists only a barn for the animals in bad weather, a large hall for meetings, gatherings, and protection the few times it has snowed, and the permanent home of the tribe mother.

It is to this building that Hannibal walks, and he bows his head to the two omegas that flank the entrance. They smile at him, and open the doors for him with soft murmurs of greeting and respectful nods, and Hannibal steps into it. He is the leader of the tribe, and no place is barred to him, but it is with reverence that he enters the building, into the home of his beloved. He washes his hands in the large basin of water by the door, takes off his shoes, and sheds his muddy cloak.

Inside, it is almost completely silent. The mother's dog, a faithful wolfhound the color of wheat, lifts his head and pants at him, but knows Hannibal's scent and the sight of him. Hannibal passes the animal with a gentle pat to his head and an offering of meat, which the dog happily snaps up, and returns to rest.

The house is made of wood and stone, carved from the side of the mountain, and stretches in a short, fat entryway, to a high-ceilinged center room. One side of the room is open, to allow wind and sunlight to enter like giggling children. The rest is made of the same black rock of the mountain, subtly glittering as it is wont to do, for the mountain is rich with iron and gems.

The room is well padded with cloaks, furs, pillows, and fine silks. The omegas offer gifts to the tribe mother when they want to bear young, and receive a blessing to go into heat and lay with their mates. The tribe mother performs marriages, blesses new children, sends prayers up every harvest. He has held his mantle for years, before Hannibal came into power, and when he did inherit the throne and took his mantle, the tribe mother said he would sire the strongest children, when it came time for him to take a mate.

But Hannibal has only had eyes for one person, the most beautiful and most glorious omega, since he came of age.

The curtains at the back of the room stir, and Hannibal hears a laugh and a clink of metal. "Come to woo me again, my love?" the tribe mother asks, and appears from behind his curtain, already holding a shining pitcher of wine, and two glasses. He always seems to know when Hannibal is coming to visit him. He smiles, lovely as ever, his paleness highlighted by the reddish hue of his robes. They are both masculine and feminine – sleeveless, as is the current fashion of the omegas, but made of thicker material, and going past his knees. Most omegas of the tribe wear clothes that show as much skin as possible, in the hopes of luring an alpha to their heel.

"I am glad I am predictable," Hannibal replies with a smile equally wide, accepting the glass when it is offered, and holding it steady as the mother pours the wine. "I would hate to take you by surprise."

His eyes flash, crystalline blue, water made solid. Hannibal thinks the god of the rain himself made those eyes, and the god of war chose to make them more beautiful by putting gold within them. Earth gave her richness and warmth to his hair, and fashioned the angle of his smile rosebud-pink, made him strong and beautiful, the pinnacle of his breed. He is utterly lovely to look at, but beyond that, his wisdom and clever tongue ensnared Hannibal from the beginning; he could never think himself more in love than when he looks upon the tribe mother.

"Maybe I want to be surprised," he teases, and pours his drink, setting the pitcher down. He sits, lounging on one of his makeshift couches, more like an omega nest than a real place to sit, and Hannibal follows suit, sinking into the thick, soft pillows at a respectful distance, to the right angle of him. The mother eyes him over the rim of his glass, and takes a drink. "In the spirit of predictability, I'll ask; has Alana given birth?"

"No," Hannibal replies, smiling and shaking his head. "Forgive me, my reason for visiting is more personal than usual."

A spark of intrigue makes his eyes shine, he arches a brow, and smiles widely down at his drink. "Oh?" he murmurs, high and soft. "Have you brought another trinket from a far-off land, in the hopes to earn my favor? Or perhaps the head of a brute, that I might skin him and use his teeth and hair in my rituals."

"Neither," Hannibal murmurs. "Though perhaps, if those are the options, the latter better suits."

His head tilts, and he meets Hannibal's eyes. "Why then, my love, have you visited me?" His voice is soft, curious, like whispers of anticipation that precede any great battle. Every time he speaks to Hannibal, he is soft with affection suited to his title, though Hannibal likes to think he does not call every person he meets 'my love'.

Hannibal sips at his drink, for his mouth has gone suddenly dry. The wine is very sweet and does nothing to sate his thirst. "I want to make you a mother," he murmurs. "Not just in name, but in flesh as well."

He laughs, just as he has laughed every other time Hannibal has suggested such a thing. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his cheeks bulge with humor, and he tilts his head back, neck on display, sinking into his seat so that his robes ride up to above his knees. The barest glimpse of his pale inner thigh would send any alpha mad.

"And who would sire my successor?" he asks. It is not unheard of for the tribe mother to wed an ally, or an alpha worthy of such a reward. It is within Hannibal's power to suggest such a union, though of course he would never force his beloved into an ill-fitting match.

Hannibal presses his lips together, draws in a breath, and says, "Me."

The mother straightens, his expression melting into one of surprise. He blinks at Hannibal, and stares at him for a long while. An uncharacteristic nervousness seems to take him, then, for he swallows and looks away, to the open wall. More omegas guard the entrance to the gardens, which stretch out beyond it, but they are too far away to hear what talks go on inside.

"You're making fun of me," he says.

"I swear to every god there is, I am not," Hannibal replies.

He shakes his head. "If your desire is to become a father, I can give you the names and hearts of several omegas who -."

"Will." Hannibal sets his glass down, and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. Will's eyes flash to him, and widen with surprise. The name of the tribe mother is not common knowledge; only Will's own mother, the tribe mother before him, would have known it, and kept it close to her heart. Even as leader of the tribe, Hannibal should not know it, except he sought Will's mother out, journeyed far and wide, conquered kingdoms to find her and begged her to give him the name of her son. "I know what I ask for. As long as I have known you, I have loved you."

Will swallows, his knees pulling in, fingers drumming anxiously at the rim of his glass. "You have always spoken so nicely," he murmurs, staring down at his wine. "But to bear your child…. You know what that means."

Hannibal sighs. He knows this – a tribe leader's mate, when they are ready to breed, must submit to the breeding ceremony. It is a tradition as heavily embedded in their culture as the role of tribe mother, and to turn away from it could be catastrophic, as it was Will's own god who commanded it be done. If Will agrees, he will be mounted by every unmated alpha in the tribe, over the course of three days during his heat. Hannibal, of course, as his mate, will be the only one whose seed stains his insides – any alpha who dares to finish inside him will meet a swift and bloody end – but the strain alone, to bear so many alphas without the relief of breeding, is no small task. It is meant to prove the loyalty of the omega, and the restraint of the alpha, for only a true ruler would be able to resist going mad seeing his mate touched by so many others, and only a perfect mate and mother would beg only for their alpha while being mounted by another.

"I know what I'm asking," he says gently, lowering his head until he can meet Will's eyes. "And if you refuse, then I will never speak of it again."

Will shivers, a strange darkness in his eyes, and he looks away again, to the gardens. To the moon, shining pale and lovely above them all. Even in the beginnings of winter, it is warm enough outside to sleep without a blanket, in the grass, nestled together as so many of the tribespeople do.

"It seems you can take me by surprise, after all," Will says, after a long silence. "I did promise you a strong child, one day. Perhaps it is my fate to bear them into the world." He swallows, and finishes his wine, standing. Hannibal does the same, respectfully bowing his head. "You will sleep here tonight, and I will ask the gods for guidance. You will have my answer in the morning."

Hannibal smiles, and nods in acceptance. Will approaches him, his scent sweet as honey and cinnamon, and he touches Hannibal's chest with both hands, meets his eyes. He smiles, and cups Hannibal's face in warm, gentle hands.

"I will come for you as soon as I have my answer," he promises, and brings Hannibal down, so he can kiss his forehead. The brush of his lips is dry, warm, and makes Hannibal shiver. Will releases him, and nods to the wine. "Drink your fill, and rest here tonight."

He nods, and Will smiles at him, and leaves him, through his curtains to his private rooms. His scent lingers, and Hannibal finds no shame as he goes to where Will sat, gathering his pillows and arranging them into a comfortable sleeping position. He drinks no more wine, and after an hour or so, Will's wolfhound rises from his spot and trots past him to his master.

Hannibal smiles, and closes his eyes, praying that Will's answer comes swiftly.

It is just past dawn when movement, and the return of his beloved's scent, rouses him. Hannibal stirs, blinking through a dulled gaze as Will approaches him. He is naked, wearing not even golden ceremonial jewelry, and smiles at Hannibal, kneeling down beside him. He is as bare as Hannibal has ever seen him, and a punch of heat blinds him for a moment. He goes still, snarling, as Will touches his warm cheek, and Will is shivering in the cold.

Hannibal lifts a blanket, and offers it to him, pleased when Will accepts it, gathering it around his shoulders. He lowers himself to lie beside Hannibal, facing him, and Hannibal pulls him into his arms, their foreheads touching.

"Have the gods given their answer?" he murmurs.

Will nods. "I will do it," he says, and though his voice is as soft and sweet with affection as it has always been, his eyes are dark, and betray his nervousness. Elation runs through Hannibal, and he smiles, and wraps a hand in Will's wild, thick hair. "I am to go from virgin, to whore, to mother, all within a night."

"Not a whore, Will," Hannibal replies fiercely. "Never that."

Will hums, but doesn't argue. "You must do something for me," he says. "Not for the gods – their will be done; I am their loyal and obedient servant. Yours, as well, my king and my love. Swear on your love for me that you will do as I ask."

"Name it."

Will smiles, but soon grows serious. "There is a man, one of our people, an alpha that I will not tolerate touching me," he says. "If he lives by the time I go into heat, and I feel his hands on me, I will curse you to the deepest darkness and swear I never loved you."

Hannibal's upper lip twitches back, a snarl stuck in his chest at such a terrible punishment. Will's eyes flash, his head tilts, showing more of his lovely throat. "Name him," Hannibal says. "He's already dead."

"Frederick," Will tells him.

Hannibal knows the man. His family is well-established, and he is one of the foremost doctors for the tribe. But it matters not; if Will does not want him to live, then he won't. He nods, and Will's smile is brilliant and wide.

He lets their noses brush, but pulls back when Hannibal tries to kiss him. "Bring me his head," Will purrs, fingertips dragging lightly over Hannibal's chest. "Do this for me, and then I will believe that you truly love me."

"Just his head?" Hannibal asks, sitting up as Will rises, taking the blanket with him. Will wraps it around him like a robe, concealing his nakedness, and now that Hannibal has seen him, the presence of anything resembling clothes that bars Hannibal's gaze feels like an insult. He quiets himself before he can protest.

Will tilts his head, considering. "Perhaps, if you see something in him worth taking, you can surprise me," he says with a laugh. He turns away, dropping the blanket to once again reveal his nakedness, a seemingly endless banquet of skin and warm flesh that Hannibal aches to tear into. Will's neck, untouched by teeth; the strong, broad strength of his back; the inward pull of his waist that once again spreads out to his hips, softened by his omega breed and designed to carry a child. His powerful thighs, grown thick and strong from so many nights on his knees, offering up prayers and sacrifices to their gods.

All of it, Hannibal's for the taking. By the time the sun is at its zenith, if he has anything to say about it.

He rises, and Will pauses by his silk curtain. His fingers curl in the gossamer sheet, almost transparent, the same pink as a virgin's blushing cheek. He turns, and meets Hannibal's eyes.

"When you return," he murmurs, "you will not bring him here. Bring him to the garden – I will see, from my window, when you have arrived. I will come to you then." He smiles, wide and lovely. "Don't keep me waiting long."

Hannibal nods, and bows his head. Will mimics him, and leaves him alone, disappearing into his private rooms, and Hannibal turns, hurrying out of the house, every thought and action in him dedicated to finding Frederick and ending his life.

A shadow falls across him, and Hannibal looks up, smiling at the outline of Will as he approaches, coming to a halt at Hannibal's side. One of Will's hands falls to his hair, nails dragging pleasantly along his scalp like he might pet his dog, watching as Hannibal carefully pries open Frederick's ribs – no small feat with his bare hands and large saw-toothed blade, but he will admit it's a self-centered motivation that makes him do it. He wants to show Will how strong he is, how capable and powerful a sire he will be for their children.

He wants Will to watch, to see his hands as steady and capable as ever, and think about those hands on him. Will shivers beside him – not from cold, for the sun is bright and warming the air, and there is no breeze, and he has dressed again in clothes suitable for the season.

"I ask for his head and you bring me his whole body," Will murmurs. "I wonder if I should expect the same in all aspects of our life together."

Hannibal smiles, not pausing from his work. "Ask me for a bite to eat and I will bring you a feast," he promises. "A river in place of a glass of water. Endless hours of pleasure when commanded to give a single kiss."

Will laughs. "Lofty ambitions," he says. He crouches by Hannibal and presses one hand into the pool of blood which has begun to soak into the grass. They are between two flower beds, and Frederick's body will water the field and make the flowers grow fresh and new and strong come springtime. Will's head tilts, meeting Frederick's blank, staring eyes. His upper lip twitches, his nostrils flare. "Were you merciful?"

Hannibal pauses, considering the question. "Is it a mercy to put down a sickly animal, or kill someone plague-ridden for the sake of the masses?" he replies, and Will meets his eyes. "I don't know what he did to offend you, but his existence did offend you, and would have been a poison between us." He smiles. "Which answer would please you more? That I was swift, and broke his neck and dragged him back here, or that I tortured him until he screamed and begged for mercy?"

Will's eyes narrow. "The honest answer would please me most," he replies, arching a brow.

Hannibal laughs, and gives a conceding nod. "I asked him to come with me, from his home. He was having breakfast with his mate and children. Once we were far enough away, I slit his throat and brought him back here."

It is strange that Will asked for this man's head in particular, for only unmated alphas are obligated to partake in the breeding ceremony. But perhaps Will didn't want even the possibility of Frederick touching him – he may have wanted to, despite his mated status, and it would have damaged his relationship with his mate. It seems as good a motivation as any. Now he can die a good man, a loyal man, and if it makes Will happy, then it was a justified act in Hannibal's mind.

"Like slaughtering a pig," Will murmurs. "Fitting."

Hannibal nods.

Will's hands come forward, sinking through the shards of ribcage that have been cut apart and removed, lacing with Hannibal's over the slick, thick meat of Frederick's left lung. He squeezes the organ around Hannibal's hands, crushing it, making it burst with expelled hair and slick blood. A shudder runs through him, his eyes a pretty mesh of black and gold, and Hannibal wants nothing more than to take him in his arms and kiss him, and mount him right here beneath the sun god's watchful eye.

Will turns his head, meets his gaze. He smiles, and removes his hands, cupping Hannibal's face. His fingers, slick with blood and warm, splay out wide along Hannibal's cheeks, marking him like some painted savage, and Will leans in, their lips meeting. Chaste, at first, and then he sucks in a breath, moaning sweetly as Hannibal tilts his head and slides his tongue between Will's teeth. Will opens for him like they've been doing this all their lives, eager and welcoming as the finest of his breed. Hannibal grabs for him, the body forgotten, grips his fine clothes and tugs him close.

When they part from each other, Hannibal is breathing hard, his head warm and body alight from Will's kiss. "Will," he breathes, pleased when Will shivers – it must be such a rare, sweet pleasure, to hear his own name. Even more so, to hear it said so desperately. "Will -."

Will smiles, and takes one of Hannibal's hands, pressing it to his stomach above his robes. "I feel empty, here," he murmurs, and Hannibal growls, fingers curling. Will's head tilts. "When did you last lay with someone?"

"It's been years," Hannibal replies, and that is honest. In his youth, yes, and during long stretches of time when there were battles and wars to be fought, he indulged in the occasional companion, purely to sate a physical need for closeness. But since he came home, since he became the leader and knew Will, he has had eyes for no other. Even in the darkest hours of the night when his own hand provided the only relief, his thoughts were always on the tribe mother, his beauty and power.

This answer seems to please Will, for he smiles, and kisses Hannibal again. He pushes back, onto his heels, and then sits, pulling Hannibal between his knees. His thighs grip Hannibal's flanks as he lays on his back on the grass, shining and pale in the sunlight like a fallen star. Hannibal covers him, drenching him in shadow, and kisses him deeply as Will shivers and arches up beneath him.

The air stinks of blood, of grass and flowers, but beneath that, teasing at the edges of Hannibal's awareness, comes sweetness. Slick, Will's slick, his body reacting to the kiss and touch of an alpha strong enough to claim him.

Not only that, but Hannibal can smell others, too. Will's guards stand at the outside of the garden entrance, and he lifts his head to find them turning hastily away, their cheeks flushed and weight shifting restlessly. He smiles, and nuzzles Will's wild hair. "Shall I take you inside, my love?" he murmurs.

Will laughs, and shakes his head, dragging his blood-wet hands through Hannibal's hair. "I want them to see," he replies. "You have no idea how many omegas have come to me, asking for my blessing to woo you."

Hannibal pauses, and lifts his head so he can meet Will's eyes. Will meets his gaze, unrepentant, shamelessly proud that, in the end, it would not have mattered how many omegas threw themselves at Hannibal's feet. He has only ever belonged to Will.

He says so, kissing the words to Will's pink mouth; "None of them compare to you."

Will laughs.

Hannibal smiles. "You may wish to show them what is yours, but a possessive part of me would rather see you bare for no one else," he murmurs, though he knows that's impossible. As his mate, if Will gives him children, he will have to go through with the ceremony, and all the tribe will see him, heat-sick and desperate, begging to be mounted and filled. It is a double-edged cruelty, sharp for them both, no matter how necessary.

In answer, Will lowers his hands, pulls at the edges of his robes so that his pale inner thighs are bared. He is wearing nothing beneath, and the scent of his slick fills Hannibal's mouth, makes it water, makes his teeth feel too sharp and aching to bite.

Will lifts up against him, bares his neck so Hannibal can bury his nose against his pulse, breathe in his sweet, wild scent as deeply as he desires. He will not bite until he knots, as is proper, but oh gods above, how he wants to. Will shivers for him, whines in such a sweet way Hannibal has never heard, and his hands tug at Hannibal's sword belt, pulling it free and letting it drop with a snap of leather and clink of metal. It frees his tunic enough that Will can dip his warm fingers beneath the edge, and free his cock from the confines of cloth that covers his legs.

Will whines, loudly, at the feeling of it in his hands, frantic and soft as he writhes beneath Hannibal, every instinct in his breed designed to be as desperate and alluring as possible, to entice an alpha to mount him. He needs no help, but the sounds he makes drive Hannibal to the brink of madness, rabid with the need to pierce Will where no one else has, to feel how hot and wet he is on the inside, to flood him and fill that empty place inside him.

Will spreads the blood over Hannibal's shaft, and rears up to kiss him as Hannibal snarls, clutching Will tightly, one hand in his hair, the other sliding down his strong back to press at his tailbone, coaxing his hips to lift. Will's cock smears sticky-wet over Hannibal's bare stomach, and Will whines, shows his teeth, as Hannibal kisses him and holds him still, pushes forward on his knees to get Will's legs to spread wide, and Will presses his cockhead to his slick hole.

He pushes in, snarling loudly with triumph as Will opens for him. Will arches, head tossed back to bare his throat, grunting and pawing at the grass as Hannibal's hands fly to his hips, holding him still as he forces himself deeper into his beautiful mate. Will's spine curls, hips rising, his heels hooking high on Hannibal's back as his slick, trembling muscles part. So easy, so tight it's suffocating, and Hannibal is breathless by the time his hips connect with Will's flesh, and he's as deep as he can go.

"_Hannibal_," Will cries, shivering beneath him. Hannibal gathers him at the nape, forces Will to curl up under him, for any alpha would want nothing more than to pin and corral their mate and hide them away from prying eyes. He knows Will's guards are watching, but he doesn't care. The gods are watching too, and he doesn't care about that either.

He rolls his hips, snarling at the feeling of Will's burning hot body clamping down around him. Will whimpers, opens his eyes to half-mast, black and gold and glowing with arousal. Hannibal kisses him, pets through his hair, digs the nails of his free hand into the ground by Will's head and thrusts again, desperate to wring more of those lovely, sweet sounds from Will's mouth.

"Oh, gods," Will whispers, clinging to him, nails tight in Hannibal's shoulders. He spasms around Hannibal, so tight and warm, slick to the bone, utterly drenched. "H-_Hannibal_, please. _Please_, more."

Hannibal kisses him, drinking down his broken cries as he plants his dirty hand beneath one of Will's thighs, pushes it up and folds his mate, giving himself more room to thrust and rut Will into the ground. Will moans loudly, scrabbling for purchase, shivers and mouths wetly at Hannibal's jaw and cheek as Hannibal mounts him as thoroughly as he can.

He sinks deep, gasping as his cockhead butts up against the hard opening of Will's cervix. His womb, which will open when he goes into heat, eager to be soaked with Hannibal's seed and catch, to bear him a child. Will whimpers at the feeling of it, clenching his jaw in pain, but gives no other indication that Hannibal should stop.

In fact, he thinks, meeting Will's eyes, Will may kill him if he tries to gentle himself now.

"More," Will demands, rough and low. He drags his nails down Hannibal's neck, across his clothed shoulders, his body eager and slick, clamping around Hannibal's cock as though trying to draw him in. Omegas are gifted with powerful internal muscles, evolved to be able to bear young and tug at a knot to keep it locked and swollen. The desire to knot Will is getting overwhelming.

Hannibal snarls, and pulls back just enough that he can release Will's leg, and roll them so he's on his back. Will is haloed by the sun, a dark shadow atop Hannibal as he sinks onto his cock, and Will gasps, head tilted back, eyes closing in pleasure as he ruts down onto Hannibal's cock, desperately chasing his knot.

Hannibal smiles, breathless. He drops his hand and takes Will's cock, stroking him quickly. Will whimpers, shuddering, thighs tense on Hannibal's flanks, his hands resting on his chest, over his racing heart.

"Hannibal," he whispers, weak and wanting. His jaw clenches, he shows his teeth, rides Hannibal fiercely as Hannibal strokes his cock. "Oh, _fuck_, yes, yes…" He goes still, whimpering softly, and comes with a shudder over Hannibal's fist and belly. The scent of his seed is as sweet as his slick, thick and milky-white, and Hannibal growls, blinks slowly, savoring the feeling of Will's body clenching up around his cock, desperate for a knot.

Will collapses over him, panting and sated, and kisses Hannibal with fever-sweet passion. He starts to move again, not so much rising and falling as rocking his hips, his rim tight and wet around the place where Hannibal's knot will swell.

"Please," he gasps against Hannibal's mouth. "Give me your child."

Hannibal snarls, and rolls them again, right into the pool of blood. It's such a lovely color on Will, staining his skin as Will writhes, moaning loudly as Hannibal folds him once again, opens Will up for him to penetrate as deeply as possible. Will claws at his back, eyes bright and gold, and as Hannibal begins to slow, Will rears up with a savage growl, his teeth finding Hannibal's pulse, and he bites down sharply.

Hannibal doesn't have time to react before he's biting Will in turn, half passion sharpening his teeth, half instinctive reaction to pain at his neck. Will spasms around him, another orgasm wetting their bellies and soaking him with slick, the sound of Hannibal mounting him obscenely wet and loud. Will moans raggedly, kisses Hannibal with blood in his teeth, and Hannibal shoves him down to the ground, covers him completely, and forces his knot inside Will. It locks immediately, and Hannibal snarls, unable to pull back; he must simply rut, using Will's sensitive and wet body for his own pleasure.

He goes still as he starts to come, shuddering, every part in him howling with victory at finally having his omega of choice pinned beneath him. He is unprepared for how violently satisfying it feels, kissing Will and touching him and hearing how he whines and moans beneath Hannibal's weight, a soft purr vibrating in his chest as Hannibal floods his aching, empty body.

Hannibal kisses him, ragged and spent. His neck aches when Will touches it, petting over the bite he left, but that pain is tempered by Will's sweet smile, his own scent spiced with satisfaction.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses him again. "You'll make a wonderful mother, Will," he breathes.

Will laughs, and tilts his head up for another kiss. He tastes of blood and wine, so sweet, Hannibal might drink from him for a thousand years and never be satisfied. He doesn't want to be satisfied – even now, knotted and emptying himself inside his mate, he aches for more. He wants Will filled to bursting, wants to see him pink and happy at all times. He will spend the rest of his life seeing that come to pass.

As if sensing his thoughts, Will's eyes sharpen, and he pets his dirt- and blood-soaked hands through Hannibal's hair. "You must spend the day with me," he murmurs. As if Hannibal would rather be anywhere else. "I'm sure my heat will come for you soon. Then…"

He trails off, and sighs.

Hannibal nods, and rests their foreheads together. "It is a small price to pay, to call you mine," he murmurs. Will smiles. "I will give the rest of my life in thanks to you, for allowing me such a blessing."

"It is the gods you should thank," Will reminds him, nipping Hannibal's lower lip in a teasing bite. "It will not be pleasant, for either of us, I know that, but…" He sighs again, and tilts his head, looking at the corpse near them. Beyond it, to the guards who have once again turned their lustful gazes away. He smiles, and plants his hand over his smooth belly. "It'll be worth it. I believe that."

Hannibal smiles, and touches Will's cheek, drawing his eye again. "As do I," he replies. Will nods, and settles, his thighs still trembling and body giving a few off-rhythm clenches around Hannibal's knot, milking him for as much seed as Hannibal can give.

Despite how tight and warm Will is, Hannibal's knot cannot last forever. It goes down after another stretch of time, and Hannibal pulls out with a wince, admiring the gush of slick and come that follows. Even now, he is hungry for Will again.

Will smiles at him, and rises, taking his hands and pulling Hannibal to his feet. "Come," he murmurs, and leads Hannibal back inside. "I will not let you rest until I am in heat, or pregnant."

Hannibal laughs, so in love with Will's determined, fierce nature. He kisses Will's bloody, bruising neck as they cross the threshold, and for the first time, Will leads him towards the silk curtain, and beyond it. "Whatever you desire, my love."


	2. Chapter 2

Will's rooms are smaller than Hannibal anticipated, and intimately swathed in more of those fine silks, heavy tapestries and rugs to ward away any chill, and thick cloaks and furs sprawled all along the floor. He cannot feel any of the stone beneath his feet, merely soft cushions and thick pillows, piled high in every available space. It is the tradition of the tribe mother, when his or her time to lead comes to an end and their successor comes of age, to forfeit their home and leave everything in their possession to the next one. There are generations of hoarding and nesting instincts in this room, and within the air there stirs a thick power, a benevolent magic that makes Hannibal feel relaxed, contented, and at ease. He is the first alpha, he knows, to enter this place since Will's mother chose her mate. She did not need to go through the breeding ceremony, as her mate was not the tribe leader, and so Hannibal has no doubt that Will was conceived, nurtured, and birthed in this room.

The only break in the myriad of fine silks, cloths, and sheets is a single wide-spread altar, a barrier of stone set into the wall. There are candles along each side of it, and a statue of the fertility goddess, the Lady of Hearth and Home, to whom Will and all the mothers before him pray, and ask for blessings. Hannibal sheds his cloak, his shoes, and his clothes and leaves them by the door, not wanting to stain the lovely furs and pillows with mud.

Will bares himself before the altar, and sinks to his knees, his forehead touching the statue's feet. His hands, still painted with blood, smear along the altar, and he utters a few words in a language Hannibal would have never learned, since he is not a priest of any of their gods.

Above them is a hatch, where smoke can leave the room and sunlight can come in. Will rises, and goes to it, the sunlight shining in his eyes and coloring his hair with honey and maple tones. He smiles at Hannibal, and holds out his hand.

"Come to me," he purrs, and Hannibal, though he would never refuse, has no choice but to obey.

Their hands touch, palm to palm, fingers lacing, and Will pulls him into the center of his nest. Hannibal embraces him tightly, leaning down to kiss his mate's soft, lovely mouth, and feels Will's chest rumble with a pleased purr. Already Hannibal can smell a telltale sweetness on him, separate from Will's normal scent – his body knows, now, teeth and knot and seed, and is changing to accommodate more of it. He will become ravenous for it soon enough.

Hannibal kisses the blood from his neck, nuzzles the crusting edges of his mating bite, and Will shivers against him.

"I will make you a mother, Will," he promises, and Will trembles again, sucking in a breath.

His fingers slide through Hannibal's hair, petting over his exposed shoulders, admiring their strength. "It's strange," he murmurs. "You are the first to call me by my name in as long as I can remember, and yet it doesn't sound foreign to me. I never expected to hear it again."

"You are more than just a name."

Will pulls back, and smiles at him. "Only for hearing you say it do I believe that," he replies. He cups Hannibal's face and kisses him again. Will shivers beneath Hannibal's hands, as he slides them down his flanks, to his hips, able to feel the smear of grass against his thighs, the thick coating of slick and seed that stains his skin. The scent of Will, and himself upon his mate, is threatening to send him into madness. His teeth ache with the desire to bite Will to the bone, to cover every inch of his lovely flesh with teeth and nail marks. He makes no secret of his desire, and clings to Will, his erection rutting against Will's smooth belly.

Will pulls back again, and his eyes flash. "I will never let you have me on my knees," he says, his tone cutting, unforgiving. "I will submit to it only for the ceremony, and then never again." Hannibal swallows, and Will arches a brow, and lifts his chin. "Does that anger you?"

"Will, I have waited a lifetime to earn your favor," Hannibal breathes. "There is nothing you could ask of me, that I would not do, to keep it."

Will smiles. How he can look so fond and so cruel at the same time, Hannibal doesn't know. Will's fingers rake through his hair, and he pulls Hannibal to him again, nuzzling his collarbone, his neck, his jaw. He pulls back, and sits against a mound of pillows, his head tilted up, exposing his neck, his chest, his belly. His thighs, which spread in invitation, and Hannibal falls to his knees between them. He slides his hands in and Will's touch stops him.

"Am I just an open hole for you, Hannibal?" he demands, snapping his teeth together. "Just a pound of flesh, a whore, for you to mark, and rut into, and fill as you see fit?"

Hannibal swallows, and shakes his head. "No," he replies fiercely. "Never that."

Will smiles, his aggression melting like snow in sunlight. He sinks lower into his nest and arches, one arm reaching over his support, his entire body all long lines and smooth skin. Hannibal's mouth floods with saliva, he swallows, breathing in the scent of Will as deeply as he can, until it makes him more drunk than Will's wine ever did.

"And where will your seed go, if not inside me?" Will purrs.

"Nowhere," Hannibal rasps.

"Mm. And where will you put your mouth, if not to sink teeth into my neck?"

There is a challenge in Will's eyes, some unanswered curiosity that Hannibal would give his life to satisfy. His eyes rake down Will's exposed flesh, a hunger rising in him that could never be sated by food. He swallows, and breathes out heavily.

He leans in, and kisses Will's neck. Will hums, tilting his head, submitting to the kiss with another soft shiver, his free hand releasing Hannibal's and carding through his hair. Hannibal kisses, licks Will clean, and nuzzles down to his collarbone. When his lips brush the hollow at the base of his throat, Will shivers, sighs, and tilts his head back.

Hannibal moves down further, until he reaches one of Will's nipples, which has hardened and flushed to a lovely pink. He licks over it, slowly, a fine circle with the tip of his tongue that makes Will gasp, and then flattens his tongue over it, lightly sucking at the rosebud flesh around it. Will arches up into the touch, whining softly, as Hannibal sucks at his flesh, delightfully anticipatory for the moment when he can do this and will be rewarded with a sweet bloom of Will's milk.

Will moans with loss as Hannibal kisses his way to his other nipple, but quiets when Hannibal brushes his thumb over the wet bud, rubbing slow, small circles around it and giving it the occasional touch with his callused fingers. Will is panting, writing beneath him, and though Hannibal's instincts scream at him to grab Will and pin him down, to use him for his own pleasure, he resists the urge.

He parts from Will's nipple with another lick, his other hand mirroring the first as he kisses down Will's sternum. Will's belly sinks in, his back arching as Hannibal plays with his nipples, working them into sensitive peaks, a soft chorus of whimpers falling from his mouth as Hannibal finds his belly, where he will swell with child, and nuzzles there, kissing below his navel.

Will's cock is hard, leaking against his stomach, smears sticky-wet on Hannibal's chin, and Hannibal smiles, pleased that his mate is so aroused. The scent of Will's slick is maddening, and he wants to drink it down, but he can take his time. Triggering a heat is an intense process, and requires patience and dedicated service. It is to elevate an omega to the power and resplendency of a god, and Hannibal is here, kneeling at his feet, his humble servant.

He tilts his head, and parts his lips slowly, jaw lax as he lets Will's cock sink into his mouth. Will gasps in surprise, a high-pitched, fierce cry of pleasure rung from his lips as Hannibal sucks him down, cheeks hollowing, letting Will's cock paint his tongue and rub against the roof of his mouth. He is unpracticed at this, but eager to learn.

Will cries out again as Hannibal takes him another inch, tongue running wet and heavy along the head of his cock, and Will's hands paw down Hannibal's wrists, into his hair. He clings, holding Hannibal still, bucking up helplessly, just as inexperienced, but selfish. He doesn't know how to be a selfless lover, but if Hannibal wanted a meek, submissive omega, he would not have chosen Will.

Will fucks his mouth harshly, helplessly fucking up until the base of his cock is encased by Hannibal's lips, the head of it battering and bruising his spasming throat. Hannibal hums, closing his eyes, continuing to play with Will's nipples as Will writhes and moans, digs his heels and works himself in deep. He's so slick he's sliding down in his nest, curling up as Hannibal sucks him. Hannibal shoulders his way beneath one of Will's legs, giving himself more room, ignores the ache in his neck and his jaw as Will uses his mouth.

"Hannibal, _Hannibal_, oh fuck -." Will goes still, trembling hard enough that the Earth might be quaking, and Hannibal growls, his mouth suddenly flooded with Will's come. He seals his lips, wanting to swallow all of it – his omega's slick, and seed, will trigger his own rutting instinct if they are lucky, and after the ceremony is done, Hannibal will have the ability to ride him through the rest of his heat. Until he catches, and falls pregnant.

Will collapses with a breathless whimper, squirming and sensitive, and Hannibal drags his lips up slowly, letting Will's softening cock fall from his mouth. His lips are bruised, tingling with sensitivity, as he nuzzles the crease of Will's thigh and licks the sweat from his skin. Will claws at his head, his neck, down his shoulders, trying to catch his breath as he stares blindly upwards.

Hannibal smiles, alight with pleasure at having satisfied his mate, and continues his course.

Will is so wet, his skin shining and flushed, his rim the dark red of a newly knotted omega, clenching from his orgasm around a knot that is not there. Hannibal leans in and licks the slick from his rim, pushes his tongue as deep into Will as he can, snarling at the sweet taste of him. By the gods, Will is the best thing he's ever tasted, sweeter than any fruit or wine or dessert. Will whimpers, spreading his thighs wide, shaking as Hannibal licks into him, and over his rim. He releases Will's nipples and slides his hands warm and wide down his mate's chest, taking his soft cock in hand and stroking slowly in time with his tongue.

"Hannibal," Will gasps, tensing up from overstimulation. He sits up, and Hannibal growls, gripping Will's hips and tugging him back down so that he doesn't release his prize. Will huffs a laugh, and falls back, petting a hand through his sweaty hair. "My love," he pleads breathlessly, "have mercy on me."

Hannibal smiles, and parts from Will with one last lick, dragging his nose up Will's soft cock, his stomach, to his neck again. He kisses over the bite mark he left, and pulls Will down farther, so he's pinned beneath Hannibal's weight. Will's wet thighs cling to his own, slipping up, his heels hooking behind Hannibal's legs.

Will cups his face, his eyes bright and pupils wide, and kisses him, moaning at the taste of himself on Hannibal's tongue. "I think I underestimated how eager my body would be to go into heat for you," he purrs, and takes one of Hannibal's hands, pressing it against his stomach. "Can you feel it?"

Will is warm, but more so here, his body empty and angry at that emptiness. His irises have taken on a golden hue, his flushed cheeks and sweat-dark hair only highlighting the beauty of that new color in them.

"I confess, though I will never truly know what it feels like, my love for you has often made me feel empty," Hannibal replies. Will smiles widely, lashes going low. "I would ease it for you, if I can."

Will swallows, lets out a breathy, wanton little sound. "Yes," he replies, "though I tire of being on my back. Lie down."

Hannibal obeys, and Will climbs atop him, straddling his thighs. He ruts, slick and warm, along Hannibal's cock, wetting it with his own body, and shivers, gathering some on his fingers and painting it across Hannibal's face.

Hannibal parts his lips, and allows Will's fingers to breach them, Will's eyes flashing with pleasure when he's so easily accepted. He smiles, and takes Hannibal's cock in his other hand, holding it upright as he rises on his knees, angles himself, and sinks down onto it. He's _burning _hot on the inside, his body warming itself in preparation for breeding, every muscle clinging to Hannibal's cock as he sinks down with a sigh.

Just like in his garden, Will rocks on his hips with no real care for Hannibal's pleasure, merely seeking his own. Unapologetically selfish, as his pale thighs grip Hannibal's hips and he gasps, lashes fluttering, head tilted back to show his bitten throat. The blush on his face has spread down his neck, staining his chest. He's so beautiful, the most beautiful thing Hannibal as ever seen, his body greedy and tight around Hannibal's cock, aching to be filled.

Hannibal wants to fill him. He wants Will weak and shaking with pleasure from this moment to the end of their days. He wraps his fingers around Will's cock as Will begins to harden again, omega recovery periods a fraction of that of alphas, and Will moans loudly, pressing both hands on Hannibal's chest and gripping through the hair there as he fucks forward, into Hannibal's hand, and sinks back onto his cock.

"_Hannibal_," he breathes, hard and wet and flushed to his belly. He grits his teeth, moaning weakly, sweat dripping from his hair onto Hannibal's skin as he moves. Hannibal digs in with his heels, lifts his hips and subtly coaxes Will's chest up, leaning back, so that Hannibal's cock can rut along his prostate and heighten his pleasure. He knows the instant they find it, as Will cries out, his knees lifting and drawing in tight around Hannibal's hand on his cock, his entire body shuddering and rolling frantically as he chases that pleasure.

Will is so wet that Hannibal feels omega himself, slick between his thighs, raw and sensitive as he watches his mate. He wants nothing more than to roll Will to his back again, to pin him and mount him as brutally as he's able, to show his mate how strong and powerful he is. Hannibal can take care of him – he will slaughter anyone Will asks him to, he will hunt far and wide for whatever meat will sate his mate's hunger. He will sing praises to Will's beauty and cruelty in equal measure if it would make Will smile.

Will meets his eyes, and goes still, a soft breath of air the only sound he makes as he shivers and comes over Hannibal's belly. His ass clenches up in vicious spasm around Hannibal's cock, and he growls low in his throat, fights the urge to close his eyes and lose himself to the feeling.

Will settles with a soft moan, utterly spent, and shivers again, petting over Hannibal's chest until his hands settle above his racing heart. He breathes out, and leans down for a kiss that Hannibal eagerly answers, clutching at Will's soaked hair as Will sighs, smiling, and lifts off him.

He nuzzles Hannibal's neck, and settles on his knees by his side. "It's coming," he whispers, soft with promise, and puts a hand over his own stomach. "You need to see to preparations."

Hannibal's upper lip twitches back, and he turns his head, nuzzling Will's slick thighs, reaching for him and cradling the nape of his neck with a tight hand. "Will, please."

Will shivers, biting his lower lip, and shakes his head. "Can you resist the urge to knot me?" he murmurs.

Hannibal wants to promise that he can, but Will's entire being calls to him, and the thought of being inside his mate and not filling him, of mounting him like one of the surrogate alphas in the ceremony, forbidden to knot and stake his claim, fills him with revulsion. "No," he confesses.

"Then you must leave, my love," Will replies. He sounds sympathetic, but just as Hannibal will never know the ragged emptiness of being in heat, Will could never truly understand the rabid desire to sink teeth and knot into a warm, willing omega, to lock tight within them and spill. Will sighs, and pets his sweaty hair from his face in a gentle touch. "If you were anyone else, I would happily submit to your will, but I cannot defy the gods and let you impregnate me before the ceremony."

Hannibal knows this. To ask Will to do so would be blasphemy.

He swallows, and nuzzles Will's neck, kissing wanton and wide over his thrumming pulse. Will shivers beneath his kiss, arches against him like a plaintive pet, but allows Hannibal to rise, and withdraw. It might be the most difficult thing Hannibal has ever done.

Hannibal turns to him, and cups his face with both hands, kissing him until they are both breathless. "I'll return when everything is ready," he promises, and Will nods, swallowing, a shade of nervousness in his eyes. As tribe mother, he will never have been so exposed, never laid out with another under the watchful eyes of the stars, never seen so much bared flesh.

"Hannibal," Will murmurs, reaching for him when Hannibal withdraws. He pushes himself to his feet, pets up Hannibal's wrists, and settles his hands on Hannibal's chest again. "Promise me that…." His upper lip twitches, showing his teeth, and when his golden eyes meet Hannibal's, they are dark and narrowed. Hannibal can smell himself on Will, but Will's sweet scent is quickly overpowering everything else, growing heated and musky with his fertility. "If anyone _tries_…"

Hannibal nods, understanding what Will can't say. If any of the alphas try to knot Will, try to impregnate him, the punishment is death. It is usually done after the ceremony is finished with, and any child borne of the ceremony is to be raised as an orphan if it is not immediately obvious who fathered it, but Hannibal will not wait that long. He will not rest through Will's heat and deal out justice after. He will not mount Will with another alpha's seed inside him.

He will not force Will to carry a child that is not his own.

He kisses Will, and nuzzles his forehead. "I will personally rip any offense from your body, the second it happens," he promises. Will swallows, lets out a soft whine, and nods, sagging against Hannibal and making a soft noise of thanks. "Let us pray that our fellow men are not so weak."

Will huffs, and manages a small smile. "Gods willing." Then, he winces, whines sharp and high, clutching at his stomach. A tremor runs through him and he pushes himself away from Hannibal forcefully, stumbling back into his nest. "Go now, while I still have the strength to let you."

Hannibal nods, and though it pains him to do it, he gathers his clothes and leaves Will's room, dressing as he goes. It's almost impossible, so surrounded by the scent of Will, to tame his arousal, but he manages to look somewhat decent by the time he passes Will's dog and emerges through the front door.

The omega guards blink at him, and Hannibal rubs his hands over his face, and says; "See to preparations."

They nod, and scurry from their post. The ones by the garden entrance leave as well, still flushed and glancing shyly at Hannibal as they pass him. It is the duty of the omegas to gather food and water for Will and the alphas that will mount him during the ceremony, and take up arms to guard the tribe while most of their warriors are otherwise indisposed.

He spies Bedelia nearby, speaking with Alana by one of the wells for drinking water. Alana's stomach is heavy with child, she will likely go into labor any day now. They both look up as he approaches, and bow their heads in respect. Bedelia's sharp eyes land on his neck, and she smiles knowingly.

"Have our people finally been given a queen?" she asks.

Alana's nostrils flare, her eyes flashing with gold. An omega herself, she will be more sensitive to the scents clinging to Hannibal's skin. "Our mother?" she murmurs, her eyes widening. She smiles when Hannibal nods, and lets out a soft, happy gasp. "Oh, Hannibal, congratulations!"

"It's about time," Bedelia says airily, the red in her eyes shining with joy. "I feared you would become an old maid like me before long."

Hannibal laughs, and holds his hand out to her. "Will you come help me prepare the altar?" he says, and she nods, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. Bedelia is one of the oldest women in the tribe, and Hannibal's oldest and most trusted friend.

"I would like to help too!" Alana says.

Hannibal nods, and helps her to her feet as well. "As long as you are able," he tells her sternly. "I will not have your mate yelling at me for making you work when you are so close to term."

She laughs, and winks at him. They walk slowly, mindful of Alana's burden, and approach the altar which sits on the edge of their tribe's central borders. It is always wreathed with flowers which grow in Will's garden, placed there by him and his guards. The altar itself is a single large rock, flattened on the top to allow sacrifices and ornaments to be placed there. Bedelia leaves to fetch restraints, as Alana helps Hannibal clear the altar of the most recent offerings, piling them all at one end so they're out of the way.

When Bedelia returns, she has large iron manacles and chains draped across her shoulders. Hannibal digs an anchor into the ground on either side of the altar and they bury one end of each chain in the holes, so that they can stretch up and bind a person down upon the altar. She leaves the collar on the flat center, and Hannibal tests the moorings, finding them unmoving.

A crowd has begun to gather, a gentle susurrus moving through the tribespeople, their eyes wide on Hannibal's bitten neck, whispering to themselves that their leader has found a mate. The air grows thick with the scent of unmated alphas, excitement and anticipation sitting like the promise of a thunderstorm. The breeding ceremony is an implicitly public tradition, and Hannibal's stomach is tense with aggravation that so many will see his beloved mate so exposed.

It is the sacrifice of the leader, to be open with his people, to give them a taste of his blessings. He doesn't have to like it, and he knows it is such a small thing to ask in comparison to Will's sacrifice – he will have to experience it, after all; bare his body and let other alphas inside him when he's in heat, unable to use their seed and knots to sate his own desires. He will be left strung out and desperate, unsatisfied, until all of them have finished with him, or his heat ends, whichever comes first.

He sighs, closing his eyes, and sends an absent prayer up to the gods, that they grant him patience and mercy while he is forced to watch so many others touch his mate. Will's words ring in his head from that morning; Hannibal does not view him as a whore, an open hole to just fuck and fill at his leisure, but he cannot promise the other alphas will not treat him as such. It angers him, and he's sure it will anger Will to no end, but it is necessary.

By the will of the gods; they are their humble and obedient servants.

By the time the altar is prepared, there is a horde around it, and Hannibal turns to gaze upon the gathered people. The unmated alphas of the tribe are at the front, knowing they are the ones who will be participating, the rest forming a captive and attentive audience. He forces himself to smile, and passes through them, heading to Will's house.

His two main guards have returned, and his wolfhound is sitting at the entrance, panting, ears perks forward. The guards bow to Hannibal, and he remains outside as they enter Will's house to fetch him. Hannibal sucks in a breath as he emerges, a thick cloud of his sweet heat-scent accompanying him.

Will is beautiful at all times, but heat has made him look like wonder incarnate. His cheeks, flushed, his brow and neck shining with sweat. He has bathed himself, no longer coated in blood, but dripping already with sweat, his slick gushing so heavily from his body that his calves and bare feet shine with it. He is wrapped in a robe, though it is so sheer and thin that Hannibal can see his body easily through it.

The guards flank him, and Hannibal steps back to allow him to pass. He cannot touch Will until the ceremony begins. Will's eyes flash to him, dark and glowing with gold, and Hannibal gives him an encouraging nod, hoping Will sees just how grateful, how in love he is, how he would gladly go to the top of the highest mountain and beg the gods to deny their ritual and allow Will to be spared.

Will stops, faltering in place, and turns to the guard on his left. "Kiss him for me," he whispers, and she looks to Hannibal with wide eyes. Takes a single step forward.

Hannibal shakes his head, lifts his hand to keep her back. "No, my love," he murmurs. "I am yours alone."

Will's eyes flash, and his lips twitch in a weak smile. He winces, pressing a hand to his stomach over his robe, and lets out a quiet, thankful sound. He turns away, his hand falling to his wolfhound's head, and they continue on, Hannibal bringing up the rear.

The crowd parts for Will, a rumble of surprise breaking the silence as they see who, exactly, Hannibal has chosen to be his mate. Will walks to the altar on unsteady feet, and stumbles at the edge, catching himself on the cold rock. Alana has placed a thick fur atop it, so that he's shielded from the cold when he's tied down.

Hannibal goes to the other end of the altar, stands there so that Will can see him, helping him with the instinctive need to press close to Hannibal and giving him the strength to shed his robe, baring his flushed, shaking body, and climb upon the altar. It's narrow enough that he can spread his knees wide and lower himself to a good mounting height, and once he has, Bedelia and his guards come forward, securing his wrists and ankles with the chains. Hannibal hates the sight of the manacles going around his beloved's flesh. Hates how Will shivers and flinches from the cold of them.

The collar, he must place himself. It will prevent any of the alphas placing a mating bite to his neck, claiming what is not their right to claim. He approaches Will and Will turns to look at him, his eyes wide and gold, his scent saccharine with nervousness.

Hannibal leans down, unable to resist the need to cup Will's red cheek, nuzzle his hair. He does not kiss, though every part of him burns to. He presses his nose to Will's sweaty hair and breathes in deeply.

"Let my love for you give you strength," he whispers, "as your love for me will keep me strong."

Will whimpers, and closes his eyes, bowing his head to give Hannibal room to secure the collar. It clicks closed at the back of his neck, secured with a single bolt through the back of it. He runs his fingers down the edge to make sure it is not too tight, and parts from Will with another wretched sigh, as Will's fingers clench in the fur beneath him and he settles in place.

He turns away to address his tribe. "It is with great joy and pleasure that I present to you my mate," he says, as all eyes go to him. At least, the eyes of the omegas and betas in the tribe. The unmated alphas are still watching Will, and he cannot fault them for that. "You have known him as your mother for many years, but now he has allowed me the honor of choosing me as his mate, and submitting to this ceremony which has been part of our traditions for generations. Today, we make him a mother in more than just name, and may the blessings of the gods rain down upon us for the sacrifice he makes in their honor."

He pauses, and sucks in a breath. "You all know the rules of this ceremony. Know that anyone who breaks them will meet a swift and immediate end by my own hand. Any sin against him is a sin against me, and the gods, and may he who commits that sin be cursed to the deepest darkness and most violent torment."

He waits, for those words to land, and then steps back. Bedelia's movement in his periphery catches his eye, as she approaches the altar and lays a large, curved bowl beneath Will's hips, between his knees, to catch any of his seed and slick that will leak during the ceremony. Alana has another large cup in her hand, half-filled with wine. Will's guards have taken their station at the back side of the altar, laden with cups of water and plates of food for Will during the ceremony.

Will lifts his head and meets his eyes. For a moment, Hannibal is struck silent by the look on Will's face, for every feature seems to be betraying a different emotion. His jaw is clenched, desperately trying to swallow his needy sounds, his body racked with heat and soaked with need. His nostrils, flared wide at the scent of so many virile alphas ready to mount him. His hands, clenched tight in the furs, white-knuckled, betraying how difficult it is to keep still. His eyes, though, are wide and dark with terror. Hannibal aches with the need to go to him, to pet him and soothe him and promise him no one will ever touch him, to defy the gods and take Will from this altar and give him a child without the ceremony to bless their union.

He wants to, but then Will swallows, breathes in steadily, and bows his head again. His shoulders tense, and then forcibly relax. His spine dips, hips lifting and knees spreading a fraction more to brace himself on the altar. He breathes out, and Hannibal sees the surrender in him.

He swallows, and prays for strength. "Who will begin?" he asks.

Three alphas step forward at once, followed by another cluster of four, then three again, then another two. There are no less than twenty unmated alphas in the crowd already. Hannibal knows their names, and their faces, but perhaps it would be better for them, and for him, to forget them for a day.

He nods to one of the first who stepped forward. He's a tall, powerful alpha, a capable warrior; he and Hannibal were friends, back in the time of war. Hannibal knows him as a loyal man, one whom others can follow by example.

He approaches Hannibal and bows his head, resting their foreheads together. Hannibal breathes in his scent, touches his cheek, and gives his nod of permission, before the alpha leaves him, and steps up to Will at the altar.

Hannibal watches as he gently takes Will's chin in hand, holding him still, and leans down to kiss his forehead. Will stiffens in surprise, eyes opening and lifting to meet his. The alpha smiles at him, and rests their foreheads together as he did with Hannibal.

"Your mate is like a brother to me," he says, so quietly only Will and Hannibal could possibly hear it. "Now, I love you like I love him. Do I have your permission?"

Will swallows, clearly shocked at being asked. He looks up, and for a moment he is as he always has been, soft with affection for his fellow man, pleased that they would come to him for guidance and blessings. He lifts a manacled hand and touches the alpha's face.

"Yes," he says quietly, and the alpha smiles.

"You honor me," comes the reply, and another kiss to Will's sweaty forehead. Then, he leaves Will's head, and circles to the base of the altar, where there is a single step that will allow alphas to reach the height necessary to penetrate Will. Will meets Hannibal's eyes, looking more settled now, and Hannibal smiles at him, pleased by his choice.

One hand slides up Will's back, gripping him steady at the shoulder, his other hand lifting his tunic and pushing down his pants to bare his hardened cock. He's thick, fat-headed, and Hannibal's upper lip twitches in a snarl at the thought of him being inside his mate. Will's eyes do not move from his as the alpha ruts his cockhead through Will's slick, wets his shaft, and sinks in with one powerful, controlled thrust.

Will gasps, his shoulders dropping, hips canted back, a slave to his omega need to be mounted and filled. New slick drips down his shaking thighs as the alpha sheaths himself inside Will, snarling low, face lax with pleasure. He widens his stance and his free hand falls to Will's hip, keeping him still as he rolls his hips, pushing deep into Will.

Will whimpers, his hands stretching out high above his head, his spine curving down sharply, angling himself for proper penetration and impregnation. He moans loudly, for he doesn't know how to be quiet, his entire body jolting as the alpha builds up a slow rhythm inside him, undoubtedly savoring how tight and wet Will is.

Emotionally, it's difficult to watch, but Hannibal cannot deny that Will looks so _beautiful_ like this, a slave to his need to be filled, torn open with emptiness, his sweet cries unmuffled and ragged as he's mounted. His shoulders lock up, his belly tenses, and he whimpers and spills into the bowl beneath him, coming with a series of sharp gasps and low grunts as he's fucked through it.

The alpha stills, suddenly, and pulls out with a quiet snarl, stroking his flush-red cock which is shining with Will's slick. Alana comes forward with another omega, an unmated one, and takes over for him, angling him so that his seed spills into the cup of wine. Her name is Reba, her dark skin and thick hair doing nothing to hide the flush on her face, the brilliant gold of her eyes.

It is the duty of the tribe mother to bless unions, and Will lifts his head, panting heavily, delirious, but reaches out and gestures for them to come over. They approach, and Will dips his fingers into the mix of wine and seed, paints it over Francis' – Hannibal allows him a name, now that he's done – face. And then Reba's.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and Francis smiles at him. Will turns his glazed golden eyes to Reba. "If you will take him, he is yours."

"May the gods bless you, mother," Reba whispers, and cups Will's face, kissing his cheek. Francis laces their fingers together, and they disappear from the crowd to seal their bond. Hannibal wonders how many omegas and alphas he will bless during his time on this altar. How many, he wonders, until Will becomes too out of it to continue his task.

The next alpha is smaller. He's a sweet one, still fresh of face, gentle in both speech and manner, and spends most of his days tending to the horses and livestock. He's clearly more nervous than Francis was, but Will breathes in, and lifts his head, and meets his eyes.

"Peter," he breathes, and reaches for him. "Yes. Peter, come here."

In his eagerness, Peter stumbles over his own feet, and Hannibal smiles as he climbs onto the step, his hands shaking as he pets gently down Will's pale, trembling thighs. Will arches his back with a wanton moan, drags his nails down the sides of the altar until they bend back and break, smearing tiny droplets of beading blood. He ruts his forehead against the fur as Peter positions himself and pushes, slowly, into him.

Will shrieks, anger and outrage making his voice raw. Hannibal tenses, but can tell Will's aggression isn't coming from Peter's actions – he's working himself back onto the small alpha's cock, snarling low as Peter grips his hips and his expression contorts like he's trying his best to hold back.

"_Hannibal_," Will snarls, and Hannibal is compelled to go to him, a hook in his chest that is uniquely and helplessly tied to Will. Will paws at his tunic and lifts his head, gives him another show of his sharp teeth and his wild eyes. "I -. I need -."

Hannibal sighs, and kisses Will's forehead. "Tell me," he says. If it is within his power to give it, he will. Will's body rolls and shudders with every one of Peter's thrusts, they are getting rougher and more frantic as he nears his orgasm.

Will moans weakly. "How many are there?"

Hannibal looks over his shoulder. The crowd has thickened, more of the tribe coming to see as word spreads and they finish with their morning tasks. Those sated in the morning will cover the afternoon shifts, those in the afternoon will cover the night, and so on, until every alpha has had his turn, or Will's heat ends, whichever comes first.

There were no fewer than twenty alphas, before. Now Hannibal would think the number over twice that. And more will come.

"I don't know," he replies.

Will whimpers, and lifts his head, kisses open-mouthed and slack-jawed over Hannibal's mating bite. "Please," he begs, and Hannibal's chest goes tight, his heart breaking at how mournful and wretched Will sounds. It must be the more awful torment, spread open and touched by an alpha that is not his, that he did not choose, without even the paltry relief of seed to soothe his heat. It could be enough to turn any omega feral; it is why the tribe leader's mate must endure it, to prove that he or she can.

"Hannibal," Will gasps, as Peter pulls out of him, another gush of slick flooding Will's thighs and the altar as Peter finishes into the wine cup. He goes without being dismissed, flushed and weak-legged, and a third man takes his place. Hannibal doesn't care who it is, so he doesn't look. "Hannibal, please, don't -. I can't -."

He shudders, his eyes clenching tightly shut as his body bows up in a sharp curve, pleasure devouring him; he has no choice, moaning and shuddering as he comes into the bowl below his belly again. His cock is red and soft, drooling into the dish, and still, the alpha does not stop. The sound of bodies colliding is raw and loud, wet-slapping skin and sucking noises, heavy dripping; Will's nails in the altar, the brush of his sweaty skin against the furs. Will hunches up, grunting as he's mounted, and gasps as Hannibal crouches down and gathers his face in his hands.

"If you allow it," he says, "I can let them have you in groups, so it's over more quickly."

Will's eyes flash, and darken. He looks down at the altar, wincing as the alpha behind him fucks in particularly harshly. He grits his teeth, his nostrils flaring as he breathes out.

"Only -." He jerks, grunting as the alpha behind him fucks in again, rutting deep against his flesh, a low snarl falling from his mouth. Hannibal does his best to ignore it, but cannot help shoot the man a warning look. He gentles, but only slightly, and continues on. "Only if you promise you won't think less of me, for succumbing to weakness."

"You are the strongest person I know, my love," Hannibal says, and kisses Will's cheek. Will's lips twitch in a half-grimace, his eyes tightening at the corners as he grits his teeth and bites hard on his lower lip. Then, he closes his eyes, expression twisted into one of reluctant surrender, and nods, once. Hannibal pets through his hair, and straightens as the alpha pulls out, stroking himself with a snarl, and comes into the cup Alana holds below the head of his cock.

He leaves with a lecherous smile thrown Will's way, and Hannibal's eyes narrow. He will remember the man's face, and name, for later. He is Clark, one of Frederick's apprentices. He melts into the crowd to go relieve someone else of their post, and Hannibal holds up his hand, halting the next alpha in place before he can approach.

"More than one of you may approach, now," he says, his voice ringing out amongst the crowd. The gathered alphas growl in anticipation, and three of them rush for Will, one of them taking his place on the step, another climbing up to kneel in front of his face, a third taking Will's hand and making him wrap it around his cock, jerking him off.

Hannibal swallows, and forces himself to watch as Will is penetrated from both ends, the alpha at his mouth grabbing his hair and fucking between Will's slack lips, the second piercing his open, wet hole with similar roughness. Will chokes on a moan, closing his eyes, his shoulders tense and knuckles white as he strokes the third alpha quickly. Saliva shines on his mouth, his free arm braced below his chest to keep him upright, his body locked and caught between the three of them as they use him for their own pleasure.

There are still so many, but it will go faster this way. Hannibal sucks in a breath and manages a smile when Bedelia hands him a cup of unsullied wine. He drinks it, hoping it will dull his teeth and soothe the sting of watching his mate be taken by so many other alphas. He knows it's a cruel trick of heat, Will helpless to resist as he stiffens and tightens, coming again into the bowl on the altar below him; that Will isn't truly enjoying it, isn't satisfied. Perhaps if he was, it would be easier. Hannibal doesn't know.

Either way, it's only just beginning, and as Hannibal looks out to the crowd of ravenous, red-eyed alphas, he doesn't think there's enough wine in the world to make him forget that. He drinks again, and Bedelia gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Heavy is the weight of the crown," she says.

"Heavier still, he who doesn't wear it, but suffers more."

She sighs, as the alpha in Will's mouth pulls back with a grunt, fist tight in his hair, and spills all over his face. Will grimaces, wincing, but bears it as gracefully as he's able. Hannibal's hand tightens around his cup, watching as the alpha moves away and Alana comes forward, gently petting Will's face with her dainty hand, scooping his seed into the cup. It's more than half full now, and will overflow before the end.

The one using Will's hand takes over, climbing into place in front of Will, and forces his cock between Will's lips. They're bruised, swollen, and wet with come and saliva, and Will groans, bracing his hands on the altar, holding himself as still as he can as the two alphas continue using him.

"If suffering is what it takes to bear greatness, I think your offspring will be the strongest of all of us," Bedelia murmurs.

Hannibal swallows, and takes another drink. He sends another prayer up to the gods for patience, and wonders if it will do anything at all. "We can only hope."


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal wishes he could say that the time and ceremony passes quickly. He wishes he could say that it was a blur, that he loses count of the number of alphas that push their cocks inside his mate's ass and mouth. Wishes he could say that the scents of them have combined into a heavy musk of virility and seed, but he cannot say that. He remembers every face, feels every moment they are inside Will. He watches as they come to him in groups of three or four, using his body and his mouth and his hands with an awful disregard that Hannibal wants to kill them for. He wishes he could forget what each of them sounds like when they come; wishes he could lose track of the amount of times Will trembles and spills into the large bowl between his knees.

He wishes he could, but he can't. He remembers every alpha, watches every man. He knows their faces, remembers which ones were gentle with Will, which ones were crueler. Which ones made him moan and which ones made him flinch. Bedelia keeps his wine cup full but it does nothing to gentle his teeth.

At high noon, the cup Alana bears to catch all their seed is full, and Hannibal calls a respite. Will's back, face, shoulders, and arms are coated with dried remnants of seed from alphas who chose to mark his skin before Alana brushed them off into the bowl, and his thighs shine with slick that keeps gushing from him no matter how many alphas he takes.

"We will rest for an hour," he tells the crowd. He receives nods in answer, and most of them disperse for their lunch, or to relieve the afternoon guards and workers. He approaches Will, hollow with sympathy and wretched love as Will groans, wincing, and doesn't even have the strength to lift his head when Hannibal cups his face.

"Is it over?" he whispers. His voice is rough with abuse, rasping the words. Hannibal wishes he could say it is so. He shakes his head, and Will shivers, but sighs in acceptance, and allows Hannibal to unbind his wrists so that he can kneel upright. One of his omega guards comes forward with a cup of water, another with a plate of grapes and sweet meat. Will drinks, and when the cup is empty, he devours the food ravenously, in time for the first omega to refill his water cup and offer it again.

Will is still very much in the throes of heat, his hands shaking and his scent overwhelmingly sweet even under all the rest of the alphas that have mounted him. His back is flushed and burned from chest hair, his cheeks so red they look like fresh blood, his eyes the most beautiful and brilliant molten gold Hannibal has ever seen.

There's a smear of come on the corner of his mouth, fresh and wet with saliva, and Hannibal thumbs at it absently as Will settles and sighs, swallowing his mouthful of food.

"You are bearing this so gracefully," Hannibal tells him. Will's lips twitch in a tired smile. "I am in awe."

Will's smile widens, and he fixes Hannibal with that familiar fond look, eyes softening even with the haze of heat making them shine. Hannibal wonders if it is easier, to not see the faces of the alphas who have touched him – perhaps it is easier to pretend, amidst their chorus of grabbing hands and bestial snarls, that he is someplace else, somewhere happier.

A tremor runs down Will's spine, and he swallows, turning his head away when one of his omega guards offers him another cup of water. Hannibal frowns, and touches his chin. "My love, you must drink," he urges quietly.

"No," Will replies, still so soft and rough, like grit has been forced down his throat instead of skin and flesh. His eyes, wilder now, turn and fix Hannibal with a cold stare. "No. I will starve this desire in me. I will dry it out like a dammed river."

Hannibal presses his lips together. "You should know better than anyone that refusing water will do nothing but make you sick," he says – gently, but sternly, for he knows Will is not exactly in his right mind. Will bares his teeth at him, shaking his head again so fiercely the chains around his wrists rattle. "You will not stop being wet and warm, my love – only, if you refuse to nourish your body, you will create a chasm that only grows wider and deeper."

Will swallows, and lifts his eyes to the high-risen sun. He sobs, shoulders curling up and trembling, and covers his face with his shaking hands. His distress and his need are powerful things, things Hannibal imagines he feels in his own chest, and he wishes he could soothe Will in some way, but by the very grace of the gods they worship, he cannot.

Will, finally, sighs, and takes his cup of water. "Leave us," he commands of his guards, and they nod to him and leave to blend in with the milling crowd. Some have left completely, but others hover, just waiting for the chance to watch or participate when the hour is over.

Will drinks, both hands around his cup, lips resting on the rim. He swallows. "I'll take more at a time," he murmurs, and meets Hannibal's eyes. "Two inside me, one in my mouth, one in each hand." He huffs – not a pleasant sound at all, his mouth cruelly twisted in a feverishly savage smile. "One of them may find some other wet crease in me if they can."

"Will," Hannibal breathes, reaching for him.

Will's hand snaps out, wraps around his wrist, and his eyes have turned cold and hard again – no longer molten, but forged and sharp. "Don't," he snaps. "Don't, I -." He looks down, eyes widening, and releases Hannibal like he's been burned. He swallows, and whispers; "Forgive me. I'm not -. Everything that makes me something feels as though it's on fire."

Hannibal nods. Will's grip did not hurt, but he knows that's not what Will meant. Raising a hand to the leader of the tribe is a terrible offense and being the leader's mate does not mean they are above that law.

"It's awful, Hannibal," Will rasps. Even as he speaks, one of his hands falls, heel of his hand flattening over his cock as it starts to harden again, his body helpless to the onslaught of pleasure and desperate mating instinct raging inside him. He whines loudly, tilting his head back, face twisted into a fierce grimace as he strokes himself tight and quick, his thighs trembling as he tries to keep still and not knock the bowl between his knees. "I'm so empty, so empty inside, and yet my head is heavy as stone. My hands, lead. I am filled with fog instead of you and I hate it, I hate it so much."

Hannibal wishes he could tell Will he has enough strength for both of them. He does not. He looks at his poor, debauched, wretched mate and his heart breaks. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Will's, around his cock, stroking and taking over as Will lets himself go and clutches at Hannibal's shoulder with sharp claws.

"The more you take, the faster this will all be over," Hannibal murmurs, putting into words what Will merely implied with his remarks before. Will nods, panting, throwing his half-full cup of water to the ground with a loud clatter as he falls to a bestial crouch over the bowl, trembles and snarls and comes into the thick, milky pool of his slick and seed. They gather it, and those of the alphas that mount Will during the ceremony, for the ending ritual. Will's seed and slick will be for Hannibal, to bathe in and consume, in the hopes that he will be sent into rut. The seed of the alphas is for Will, to drink, to symbolize the union of their people and the promise of the gods that the strength of every alpha will be in him to nourish his child once Hannibal mounts him properly.

Hannibal releases Will, his fingers coated with his mate's whitish release, and though he wants more than anything to have his taste as he did in Will's house before this all started, he resists, and wipes his fingers on his tunic.

He sees movement in his periphery, and turns from Will's panting body and heaving back to spy Alana. She has emptied her cup and filled it again with a small amount of wine, for the next round to begin. The vessel for the rest sits nearby, guarded by Bedelia.

Hannibal smiles at her and she gives him a bow of respect, her eyes soft with sympathy when they move from him, to Will. She sighs, and finds Will's water cup, bending down awkwardly around her heavy stomach. She fills it from the pitcher by the altar and offers it to Will again.

"Mother, you must drink," she says softly.

Will lifts his head, meets her eyes. "Alana," he whispers, and takes the cup from her. For a moment, he is just like himself, and gives her such a fond and loving smile, as he would give so many of their tribe when asked for blessing or prayers. He touches her rounded stomach and sighs, closing his eyes. "Your child's birth may share the same day as mine's conception."

"It will be a happy day for both, then," Alana replies with a warm smile, resting her hand over Will's. "Though perhaps, it is selfish of me to wish otherwise. I would like you there, when he or she is born. Healthy and recovered, of course."

Will laughs shakily. "Gods willing," he murmurs.

Bedelia approaches them, then, and touches Hannibal's arm. "It's time," she says, and Hannibal sighs. How could an hour have passed so quickly? Alana takes the water from Will and Will settles back on his elbows and knees, shivering when Hannibal attaches the cuffs around his wrists again.

He turns to see that a crowd has already gathered again, and forces a smile to his face. "As many as can find a place are welcome," he says, and buries his aggressive, discontented snarl when Will is immediately rushed by no less than six alphas. They grab him with large hands, and one of them climbs onto the altar beneath Will, resting his bowl on his own chest, and forces Will down onto his cock so he can ride him. Will groans, tossing his head, but his hair is caught by another alpha who takes him by the hair and plugs his mouth with his cock. A third stands on the stone at the end of the altar, grips Will's hips fiercely tight, and forces himself inside Will alongside the other alpha. Will screams around his mouthful, but can do nothing but limply take it, forced to rut and rock between the two alphas and the one in his mouth. Another two take a hand of his each and make him stroke their cocks, and the sixth one straddles Will's spine, held up by the alpha who has his back on the altar, and fucks through Will's hair and over his nape with a series of harsh growls.

It would almost be amusing, seeing so many alphas trying to find their place on Will's body, if Hannibal wasn't so vehemently repulsed by the sight. Not for Will, no, he could never find displeasure in Will, but so many of his fellow tribesmen using him so casually, like he's nothing more than a series of open holes and wet slips of skin to use and abuse. He wishes he could forget their faces, forget their names, but he can't. He knows every single one of them and he hates them, so violently that he feels blind with it.

Bedelia hands him wine. He drinks, and drinks the second cup she hands him. He drinks when the alpha in Will's mouth pulls back and finishes all over his face. The one using his hair moves to take over, giving him no time to breathe or recover. The one on his back grunts and pulls out and Alana forces the cup between his and the second one at Will's back, gathering his seed. One of the alphas using Will's hand shoulders his way in on the step and forces his cock inside Will, both of them seesawing their cocks and fighting to get deeper as Will trembles and moans around the cock in his mouth.

It's debauched, debasing. Another alpha claims Will's free hand and when the second one using his mouth finishes, they changes places again, and now there are two standing on the altar taking turns fucking Will's throat, until his neck grows weak and they have to use their tight grip in his hair to make him move. His eyes are clenched tightly shut, lashes shining with tears as he chokes on them, his mouth wet and blood-red, dripping with saliva and come when they finish on his face with low snarls.

After a time, Alana cannot keep up with them all, and Bedelia takes over for her as she sits with a wince, holding her swollen stomach. Her mate approaches from the crowd, an alpha female, and sits with her, cupping her face and stroking her sweaty hair as Alana recovers. Soon, that will be Hannibal's role – he will be able to take Will from the altar, bathe and quiet him and give him what his body so desperately needs.

It is in another moment of shift change, one alpha pulling out of Will to finish in the cup, when the second one using his ass grunts, slamming in deep, upper lip pulled back in a vicious snarl. Will shrieks, and jerks his head back from the alpha using his mouth, shoves the two in his hands away and slams his hands down on the altar with another hoarse yell.

"No!" he snaps, and tears at the fur beneath him, so vehemently that the bowl rattles, slipping to one side. It is caught by one of his guards. "Hannibal! _Hannibal_!"

Hannibal rushes over to him, dropping his cup of wine, and grabs the alpha at Will's ass, tearing him from his mate, a heavy and powerful snarl of outrage wrenched from his lips when he sees that the alpha's knot is swollen. He tried to lock with Will, tried to dirty him and mark him.

He throws the alpha to the ground. "Hold him," he commands, and the others at the altar rush to the alpha, holding him down on the grass as he snaps and tries to fight his way free. Francis has returned, and puts his foot over the alpha's throat to keep him down.

He meets Hannibal's eyes. There is a new mating mark on his neck. Hannibal gives him a nod, and approaches Will, who is gnashing his teeth and snarling wildly, trying to tear his restraints from his body, trying to get away.

"Will," he whispers, quietly enough that no other can hear his true name. Will snaps his teeth at him, snarling loudly, brilliant and wild with rage. Hannibal puts a hand in his hair and kisses him, earning a bite to his mouth as Will claws at his shoulders and tries to rip at his heart. "Will, darling, it's me. My love, be calm."

Will breathes in, lashes fluttering as he scents Hannibal, and goes quiet. He is not still, he cannot be still – he is trembling like the Earth is shaking, every inch of him coiled and taut like a bowstring ready to snap. He wets his lips and snarls at Hannibal.

"I felt him," he whispers. "I felt him, his _knot_…"

"I know," Hannibal replies. He pets through Will's hair and kisses his forehead. "Will you let me look?"

Will nods, and Hannibal releases him, circling the altar and standing on the step. Bedelia joins him, and Hannibal has to swallow thickly at how red and raw Will is, open and gaping and gushing slick. He pulls Will's flesh apart and gently inserts two of his fingers, testing Will's fertile, empty body. He leans down and breathes in, and test Will's slick with his tongue. No, he cannot taste any alpha seed inside him, except what little remains of his own.

Bedelia tests it as well, breathing in deeply, her eyes very red. "No stain," she confirms, and Hannibal breathes out a sigh of relief.

He lets Will go and brings his fingers to his mate's mouth, letting him taste that there has been no foreign seed spilled in his divine body. Will sucks on his fingers, his teeth edged tight to Hannibal's knuckles, but he calms when he realizes that he is still pure, still unblemished. Hannibal smiles at him, and kisses him again, because he will never let Will think that Hannibal would ever not desire and love him.

"My love," he whispers. "Would you like his head?"

Will's eyes flash, and narrow on the prone alpha, his knot still swollen and his cock dribbling a pathetic amount of seed. He will not join his brothers in the ritual. Alana is glaring at him openly – they all are, for daring to sully and defile their tribe mother.

"Bring me his heart," Will snarls.

Hannibal smiles, a shiver of arousal running down his spine for the first time since this started, seeing how fierce his mate is. He nods, and releases Will, approaching the alpha. One of the others offers him a knife, but he refuses it. For now.

He kneels down in front of the man. His name is Mason, and he is a vile and wretched little weasel. "May the gods throw you down into the darkest pit," he murmurs, as Mason sneers at him.

"You don't have the balls," he hisses in reply. His eyes are red, wild, his face twisted into a grotesque and smug smirk. "You won't dare harm me."

In another world, perhaps that is true. Mason's line is a strong one, his father the tribe leader before Hannibal, but Mason was just a pup when Hannibal came to power, and perhaps he doesn't remember just what Hannibal did to his father, once his throne was claimed. It would be good to remind him.

Hannibal smiles, and pushes Mason's shirt up to expose his belly. He wraps his fingers around Mason's knot and squeezes it, and Mason shudders, eyes rolling back in pleasure at the pressure of Hannibal's hand.

Until he starts to twist.

Mason shrieks, kicking out, but Francis' weight on his neck is strong, and with the other alphas holding his arms and legs, he cannot fight. Hannibal twists until he feels the blood vessels of his testicles burst, squeezes and tightens his grip until the skin gives, sticky sacs and fresh blood coating his hand. He twists, and then, with a savage yank, rips Mason's cock off by the root. Mason screams, convulsing in pain, and Hannibal takes the knife, then, and plunges it into his belly. Not high enough to kill him immediately, but high enough that he knows it hurts.

Mason howls, and Hannibal returns the knife to its owner, and plunges his hand, still holding Mason's cock, into his stomach. He lets go of his cock, and pushes in deep, until he reaches the thundering muscle of Mason's heart. He grips it tightly and, with a powerful twist and yank, rips it free.

Mason chokes on his blood, and dies quickly. Too quickly, in Hannibal's opinion, but there is his mate to consider.

He brings the heart to Will, and Will looks up from the corpse with wide eyes, soft and sweet with adoration. He smiles his loving, motherly smile, and rises to his knees, taking the heart from Hannibal's hands. He bites into it raw, blood spilling down into the bowl beneath him, but Hannibal doesn’t mind. Will bites, swallowing meat and viscera and suckling the blood from the vein. He eats half, and gives it back to Hannibal.

Hannibal finishes the rest, the meat tangy and citrus-like on his tongue, and when there is nothing left, he puts a bloody hand in Will's hair and kisses him until Will moans, desperate and raw, and reaches for him.

"My love," he whispers. "My love, mount me. Fill me."

Hannibal shivers. He wishes, he wants to.

"Make me a mother," Will begs again. "_Please_."

Hannibal swallows, and looks to the crowd. "How many more?" he calls.

A dozen hands rise, and Hannibal nods. Less than he expected. More than he wants. Will follows his gaze, and clenches his jaw, his resolve forged and iron strong. He swallows, and lifts his hand towards the crowd, curls his fingers and says, "Come to me."

They all converge, and Hannibal steps back, alert for any further attempts at desecration. He approaches Mason's corpse and Francis gives him a toothy smile, stepping back and kneeling down as Hannibal does, stripping the meat from his bones.

"There is no pit deep enough, brother," he says.

Hannibal nods in agreement. "The ocean will do," he replies. They will not give Mason the honor of a proper burial, for he does not deserve to rot in the same Earth that colors Will's hair, be watered by the same sky that is in Will's eyes. Francis grins at him.

Hannibal rises once he has the choice cuts he desires, and returns to his mate who is being finished with under Bedelia's watchful eye. There are four men left, one of them inside Will's body, another in his mouth, two waiting their turn. They are more respectful, now, and cast furtive glances Hannibal's way, wary of earning his wrath.

They finish, and Bedelia gathers their seed, and then the last two have their turn, and she gathers theirs as well. Then, it is over, and Alana and her mate, Margot, rise to help with the cup and larger jug as Will's guards gather the bowl. Will shivers, trembling, but must know it is over, for he merely kneels and breathes, dripping slick and saliva and seed, his eyes closed, his lips moving in silent prayer.

"Today, you have a queen," Hannibal says to the crowd. "But he is still your mother." They nod – normally the queen's name is known, but Will's former title will always precede that of Hannibal's mate, for it elevates him to the status of a godlike creature, and he would never bring Will lower than that.

He turns away and removes Will's restraints, sighing with relief when they fall to the ground with a scrape of rock against metal. He unfastens Will's collar, wincing at the sight of his red and chafed skin beneath, and kisses his mating bite, curling both hands in Will's hair as Will sobs and clings to him. He helps Will from the altar and pulls the fur to rest around his shoulders, concealing his nakedness.

They walk with Alana, Bedelia, and Will's guards back to Will's house, and go inside to his main rooms. Will's dog perks up on their entrance, and he whines softly, licking his muzzle. Will gives him a tired smile and pets his head, allowing Hannibal to lay him to rest on one of the cushions.

Alana comes forward with a large goblet, which has been filled to the brim with Will's seed and slick. Hannibal takes it from her, as Bedelia hands Will a matching goblet filled with all the seed of the alphas who mounted him during the ceremony. Both concoctions have been mixed with wine to help with the taste.

"May all the gods and goddesses bless your union, and may your children be the strongest to ever walk the land and sail the seas," Bedelia murmurs. Hannibal smiles at her, and drinks his potion as Will drinks his. Will is so thirsty that he swallows it greedily, gasping when he's done, and Alana hands him water afterwards, smiling in sympathy when he drinks that, too. Hannibal finishes with his, drunk on the flavor of Will as he is suddenly flooded with his mate's delicious, sweet scent and taste. He can feel, deep in his belly, a rabid hunger for more of it, a desire to chase it down to the source and claim it for his own. His head is filled with fog, his teeth sharp and wanting to show.

The women gather the goblets and rise to leave. Hannibal watches them go, and seals the doors shut behind them.

The sound of Will's moan urges him back, and he finds Will with the fur flung from him, his hands pawing greedily at his bedding. They are not in Will's nest, and Hannibal gathers him close and carries him to those rooms, laying him down within his nest.

"Hannibal," Will whimpers, his eyes unfocused, glazed, bright with gold. "My love, I know I must be awful with the scent of others, but I need you."

Hannibal shakes his head. "I will never deny you," he whispers. Will moans with relief, gazing up at him as Hannibal stands, and sheds his clothes. "I will wipe away every touch on your skin, and fill that emptiness in you, Will, I promise."

"Yes, _yes_," Will gasps, reaching for him as Hannibal falls to his knees between Will's thighs. Will must be sore, he must hurt terribly; his neck and wrists and ankles are raw from the chains, his knees burned from so much friction on unforgiving stone and fur, his face wet with seed and tears. Hannibal wants him comfortable and safe, and there is no better way to soothe a sweet omega than to cover and consume them, to remind them that their mate is strong and powerful.

Hannibal tastes blood on Will's lips when he kisses Will, fisting a hand in his hair, and pushes into Will's soaking wet body. Will screams against his mouth, arching in a severe bow, coming dry between their bellies. He clenches, bearing down, spreading his knees wide so Hannibal can push deeper into him. He is just as sweet and slick as the first time, just as wanting, Hannibal helpless but to give himself over in his entirety to his mate's desire.

He kisses and kisses, pushes Will's hands above his head and grips both wrists with one hand, his other curled under Will's back and holding him by his tailbone as he fucks brutally into Will. Will is so open, so wet, as gracious a host as he has ever been, and Hannibal can feel where he is open and welcoming, where his body is empty and ravenous.

During the ceremony, other alphas cannot knot, not just because they cannot risk the tribe leader's child being fathered by another, but because his mate must be able to lock tight and hold the leader's knot when it comes time to impregnate them. Will's muscles are powerful, not beaten into submission at all, and seize tightly around Hannibal as he shudders, going still, pressing as deep as he can. His knot swells and locks, and Will throws his head back and cries, wretched and raw, clinging to Hannibal with his wet thighs as he sobs and shakes and Hannibal finally, finally, spills inside him, cooling the fires of his heat and giving him that sweet relief.

Hannibal releases his wrists and lets Will claw at him, growls when Will rakes deep lines down his back, bites savagely at his throat, wraps his legs tight and rolls his hips to keep Hannibal's knot swollen and shoving deeper, deeper. He comes again, tense and tightening, sinks his teeth over Hannibal's mating mark and Hannibal clutches at him, covers him and fucks him into his nest. It seems as though his orgasm will never end, waves of pleasure drowning him in Will's sweat as he fucks with his knot swollen and huge, working his seed deep into his mate so that he will catch and swell.

Will snarls, and rolls Hannibal onto his back, rutting feverishly down onto his knot. It's a need Hannibal feels echoed in his own chest. His knot only deflates a little before he's gripping Will's hips and fucking up, forcing his knot through Will's spasming body until he swells and locks again. And again, every time Will comes he squeezes and makes Hannibal spill a second load, a third, a fourth. Will is slick and hot on the inside, and it's a fever dream, a chorus of ragged snarls and claws and teeth as they move about in Will's nest.

He does not put Will on his knees, remembering his mate's demand. But he puts Will on his back and mounts him. Holds Will in his lap as Will furiously chases his pleasure and Hannibal's knot, as Will bites him to the bone and claws his back open. As he bruises Will with his hands on his hips and around his nape and tugs savagely on his hair. He mounts Will against the wall, over the back of his nest, spills and spills until –.

Until, after what feels like a century, and Hannibal is just as sore and weak as his beloved mate, he pulls out. Will's body clamps and gushes slick and seed, burst like a river from a dam, and so he plugs his mate with his fingers as Will whimpers and moans, still so lost in the throes of heat. Hannibal's knot is sore, his mouth raw from Will's kisses, his back and chest burn from Will's nails and his throat, well, he may never be able to speak the same again.

But it is worth it, and a thousand times more, to be able to call Will 'his'.

He kisses and kisses until Will's cries let him grow hard again, and pushes into his mate with a rough noise, exhausted and trembling as fiercely as Will is. His rut has made his vision black, hard to focus on anything that isn't his beloved, and Will moans weakly and parts himself, holds his knees out and open, cries out Hannibal's name again and again until Hannibal can give his final knot.

Final, because he knows the second it happens. Sees Will's eyes open wide, crystal clear, and focus on him with a sharpness that would be terrifying in a warrior on the battlefield. Hannibal gasps, shivering through his orgasm, and Will cups his face and kisses him, gentle now, so gentle. Truly, he is a mother, from his birthright to his womb to his soul.

Will sighs, and then he laughs. He laughs, hysterical and high, and flattens a hand on his bruised stomach. "Can you feel it?" he whispers, and Hannibal closes his eyes and lowers his nose to Will's bitten throat. Smells, in his blood, new sweetness. Promising sweetness; the first summer harvest. He pushes his hand against Will's. Will is cooling, here, now. His heat is ebbing. He has caught.

He smiles. "Yes."

Will's eyes are bright with tears when Hannibal meets them again, and Hannibal is compelled to touch his red cheeks, to smooth back his sweaty hair and rest their foreheads together. "My love," he murmurs, as Will sobs, "why do you weep?"

"For happiness," Will replies, and kisses him. "You have made me so happy."

Hannibal smiles.

"I love you," Will says. "And I will give you a dozen of the strongest children our kind has ever seen. Titans." He laughs. "Gods."

Hannibal's lips curl in a pleased snarl, his cock twitching as he spills his last inside his mate, his knot barely swollen now. He hasn't the strength to stay inside, and pulls out, collapsing with another weak groan over Will and pulling him close, to cover and protect him in his nest.

Will kisses him again, licking deep into his mouth, his body shivering with a heavy sigh of pleasure as he goes lax, trusting and sweet under Hannibal's weight. His lashes dip low, the gold and blue of his iris barely visible, and he smiles wide enough to show his teeth.

"My mother used to tell me I had divinity in my veins," he says.

"I have often thought the same," Hannibal replies. Will blinks, and tilts his head. "I would not have thought it impossible that you were fashioned with the love and likeness of the god of the oceans, and the Earth, and the skies. Surely no beauty could exist without their hand in it."

Will laughs. "Such a flattering tongue," he says with a playful smile. "If that is true, then what we have always said is right; our children will be powerful, and strong, and fierce." He swallows, and his eyes move to his altar, a contemplative look crossing his face. "Perhaps one day they will not just speak to the gods, but walk with them."

Hannibal smiles. "One day, perhaps."

Will meets his eyes, and smiles, cupping his face and kissing him with all the gentleness his omega nature and his title have given him. "Rest now, my love," he coaxes, rolling them to their sides and pulling one of the thicker blankets across their naked bodies. "You have pleased me greatly; I have rivers for cups of water and bodies of men for my feasts." He rests a hand on Hannibal's chest and purrs quietly. "Hours of pleasure from the request of one single kiss."

Hannibal smiles at him, and takes his hand, kissing his knuckles. "To many more feasts, and hours, then," he replies.

Will leans in, nuzzling him, and Hannibal has always thought the latest moment of Will's life is when he is most beautiful, but he is struck, again and again, by new waves of it. He cannot fathom how Will might shine, glorious and brilliant, when his body swells, when he gives birth, when he is nursing their child at his breast and swollen with his second. Will is more wondrous than every sunrise and palace and altar Hannibal has ever seen.

He turns, and rests their foreheads together, gently petting Will's hair back from his face. "Will," he murmurs, and Will answers with a sleepy hum, turning his head to nuzzle Hannibal's forearm. "You have given and sacrificed so much for me, and for that I am forever your humble and obedient servant."

Will's brow creases, and his eyes open.

"I would ask one more favor from you."

"What is it?" Will murmurs.

"Would you perhaps, if our firstborn is female, consider naming her for my sister?" Will's head tilts. "I lost her when I was young, and can think of no better way to honor her memory than to give her name to our daughter."

Will smiles at him, and touches Hannibal's cheek. "What was her name?" he asks.

"Mischa."

"Mischa," Will echoes, and then again, as though testing the name on his tongue. He smiles again, brilliant and soft with joy, and nods. "Yes, my love. We will name her that."

"Thank you," Hannibal says, and Will grins at him, sweet and adoring, and leans in to claim one more kiss, before exhaustion overtakes them and they fall into a deep, pleasant sleep, entwined and warm and knowing only the scent, the touch, the taste of each other in their nest.


End file.
